[On the paper in which the MS. of this novel was wrapped, the following note was written in a bold feminine hand:--"This is a highly religious story. GEORGE ELIOT was unable to write properly about religion. The novel is certain to be well reviewed. It is calculated to adorn the study-table of a Bishop. The L1000 prize must be handed over at once to the Institute which is to be founded to encourage new religions in the alleys of St. Pancras.--H.J.W.P."]

CHAPTER I.

It was evening--evening in Oxford. There are evenings in other placesoccasionally. Cambridge sometimes puts forward weak imitations. But,on the whole, there are no evenings which have so much of the true,inward, mystic spirit as Oxford evenings. A solemn hush broods overthe grey quadrangles, and this, too, in spite of the happy laughter ofthe undergraduates playing touch last on the grass-plots, and leaping,like a merry army of marsh-dwellers, each over the back of the other,on their way to the deeply impressive services of their respectivecollege chapels. Inside, the organs were pealing majestically, inresponse to the deft fingers of many highly respectable musicians,and all the proud traditions, the legendary struggles, the well-lovedexaminations, the affectionate memories of generations of proctorialofficers, the innocent rustications, the warning appeals ofauthoritative Deans--all these seemed gathered together into one lastloud trumpet-call, as a tall, impressionable youth, carrying with hima spasm of feeling, a Celtic temperament, a moved, flashing look,and a surplice many sizes too large for him, dashed with a kind ofquivering, breathless sigh, into the chapel of St. Boniface's just asthe porter was about to close the door. This was ROBERT, or, as hisfriends lovingly called him, BOB SILLIMERE. His mother had been anIrish lady, full of the best Irish humour; after a short trial, shewas, however, found to be a superfluous character, and as she began todevelop differences with CATHERINE, she caught an acute inflammationof the lungs, and died after a few days, in the eleventh chapter.

[Illustration]

BOB sat still awhile, his agitation soothed by the comforting senseof the oaken seat beneath him. At school he had been called by hisschool-fellows "the Knitting-needle," a remarkable example of thewell-known fondness of boys for sharp, short nicknames; but this didnot trouble him now. He and his eagerness, his boundless curiosity,and his lovable mistakes, were now part and parcel of the new lifeof Oxford--new to him, but old as the ages, that, with their rhythmicrecurrent flow, like the pulse of--[_Two pages of fancy writing arehere omitted._ ED.] BRIGHAM and BLACK were in chapel, too. They wereDons, older than BOB, but his intimate friends. They had but littlebelief, but BLACK often preached, and BRIGHAM held undecided views onlife and matrimony, having been brought up in the cramped atmosphereof a middle-class parlour. At Oxford, the two took pupils, and helpedto shape BOB's life. Once BRIGHAM had pretended, as an act or purebenevolence, to be a Pro-Proctor, but as he had a sardonic scorn, anda face which could become a marble mask, the Vice-Chancellor calledupon him to resign his position, and he never afterwards repeated theexperiment.

CHAPTER II.

One evening BOB was wandering dreamily on the banks of the UpperRiver. He sat down, and thought deeply. Opposite to him was a widegreen expanse dotted with white patches of geese. There and then, bythe gliding river, with a mass of reeds and a few poplars to fill inthe landscape, he determined to become a clergyman. How strange thathe should never have thought of this before; how sudden it was; howwonderful! But the die was cast; _alea jacta est_, as he had readyesterday in an early edition of St. Augustine; and, when BOB rose,there was a new brightness in his eye, and a fresh springiness in hissteps. And at that moment the deep bell of St. Mary's--[_Three pagesomitted._ ED.]

CHAPTER III.

And thus BOB was ordained, and, having married CATHERINE, he acceptedthe family living of Wendover, though not before he had takenoccasion to point out to BLACK that family livings were corruptand indefensible institutions. Still, the thing had to be done; andbitterly as BOB pined for the bracing air of the East End of London,he acknowledged, with one of his quick, bright flashes, that, unlesshe went to Wendover, he could never meet Squire MUREWELL, whosepowerful arguments were to drive him from positions he had neverqualified himself, except by an irrational enthusiasm, to defend. OfCATHERINE a word must be said. Cold, with the delicate but austerefirmness of a Westmoreland daisy, gifted with fatally sharp linesabout the chin and mouth, and habitually wearing loose grey gowns,with bodices to match, she was admirably calculated, with her narrow,meat-tea proclivities, to embitter the amiable SILLIMERE's existence,and to produce, in conjunction with him, that storm and stress, thatperpetual clashing of two estimates without which no modern religiousnovel could be written, and which not even her pale virginal graceof look and form could subdue. That is a long sentence, but, ah!how short is a merely mortal sentence, with its tyrannous full stop,against the immeasurable background of the December stars, by whoselight BOB was now walking, with heightened colour, along the vastavenue that led to Wendover Hall, the residence of the ogre Squire.

CHAPTER IV.

The Squire was at home. On the door-step BOB was greeted by Mrs.FARCEY, the Squire's sister. She looked at him in her bird-likeway. At other times she was elf-like, and played tricks with a lacehandkerchief.

Before BOB had time to answer this strange remark, the study-door flewopen, and Squire MUREWELL stepped forth. He rapped out an oath or two,which BOB noticed with faint politeness, and ordered his visitor toenter. The Squire was rough--very rough; but he had studied hard inGermany.

"So you're the young fool," he observed, "who intends to tackle me.Ha, ha, that's a good joke. I'll have you round my little finger intwo twos. Here," he went on gruffly, "take this book of mine in yourright hand. Throw your eyes up to the ceiling." ROBERT, wishing toconciliate him, did as he desired. The eyes stuck there, and lookeddown with a quick lovable look on the two men below. "Now," saidthe Squire, "you can't see. Pronounce the word 'testimony' twice,slowly. Think of a number, multiply by four, subtract the Thirty-nineArticles, add a Sunday School and a packet of buns. Result, you're afreethinker." And with that he bowed BOB out of the room.

CHAPTER V.

A terrible storm was raging in the Rector's breast as he strode,regardless of the cold, along the verdant lanes of Wendover. "Foolthat I was!" he muttered, pressing both hands convulsively to hissides. "Why did I not pay more attention to arithmetic at school? Icould have crushed him, but I was ignorant. Was that result right?"He reflected awhile mournfully, but he could bring it out in no otherway. "I must go through with it to the bitter end," he concluded, "andCATHERINE must be told." But the thought of CATHERINE knitting quietlyat home, while she read Fox's _Book of Martyrs_, with a tender smileon her thin lips, unmanned him. He sobbed bitterly. The front-doorof the Rectory was open. He walked in.--The rest is soon told.He resigned the Rectory, and made a brand-new religion. CATHERINEfrowned, but it was useless. Thereupon she gave him cold bacon forlunch during a whole fortnight, and the brave young soul which hadendured so much withered under this blight. And thus, acknowledgingthe novelist's artistic necessity, ROBERT died.--[THE END.]

* * * * *

WINTER SEASON AT COVENT GARDEN.--Opening of Italian Opera lastSaturday, with _Aida_. Very well done. "Wait" between Second and ThirdAct too long: "Waiters" in Gallery whistling. Wind whistling, too, inStalls. Operatic and rheumatic. Rugs and fur capes might be kept onhire by Stall-keepers. Airs in _Aida_ delightful: draughts in Stallsawful. Signor LAGO called before Curtain to receive First Nightcongratulations. Signor LAGO ought to do good business "in front,"as there's evidently no difficulty in "raising the wind."

* * * * *

[Illustration: "L'ONION FAIT LA FORCE."

_John Bull_. "NOW, MY DEAR LITTLE PORTUGAL, AS YOU ARE STRONG BE WISE,OR YOU'LL GET YOURSELF INTO A PRETTY PICKLE!"]

* * * * *

THE FIRE KING AND HIS FRIENDS.

(_WITH ACKNOWLEDGMENTS TO MONK LEWIS AND THE AUTHORS OF "REJECTEDADDRESSES."_)

"No hardship would be inflicted upon manufacturers, if dangerous trades in general were subjected to such a supervision as would afford the largest attainable measure of security to all engaged in them. The case is one which urgently demands the consideration of Parliament, not only for the protection of work-people, but even for the protection of the Metropolis itself. It should never be forgotten that fire constitutes the gravest risk to which London is exposed."--_The Times_.

The Fire King one day rather furious felt, He mounted his steam-horse satanic; Its head and its tail were of steel, with a belt Of riveted boiler-plate proved not to melt With heat howsoever volcanic.

The sight of the King with that flame-face of his Was something exceedingly horrid; The rain, as it fell on his flight, gave a fizz Like unbottled champagne, and went off with a whizz As it sprinkled his rubicund forehead.

The sound of his voice as he soared to the sky Was that of a ghoul with the grumbles. His teeth were so hot, and his tongue was so dry, That his shout seemed us raucous as though one should try To play on a big drum with dumb-bells.

From his nostrils a naphthaline odour outflows, In his trail a petroleum-whiff lingers. With crude nitro-glycerine glitter his hose, Suggestions of dynamite hang round his nose, And gunpowder grimeth his fingers.

His hair is of flame fizzing over his head, As likewise his heard and eye-lashes; His drink's "low-test naphtha," his nag, it is said, Eats flaming tow soaked in combustibles dread, Which hot from the manger he gnashes.

The Fire King set spurs to the steed he bestrode, Intent to mix pleasure with profit. He was off to Vine Street in the Farringdon Road, And soon with the flames of fired naphtha it flowed As though 'twere the entry to Tophet.

He sought HARROD's Stores whence soon issued a blast Of oil-flame that lighted the City Then he turned to Cloth Fair. Hold, my Muse! not too fast! On the Fire King's last victims in silence we'll cast A look of respectfullest pity.

But the Fire King flames on; Now he pulls up to snatch Some fodder. The stable's in danger. His whip is a torch, and each spur is a match, And over the horse's left eye is a patch, To keep it from scorching the manger.

But who is the Ostler, and who is his lad, In fodder-supplying alliance, Who feed the Fire King and his Steed? 'Tis too bad That TRADE should feed Fire, and his henchman seem glad To set wholesome Law at defiance.

See, Trade stocks the manger, and there is the pail Full set by the imp Illegality! That fierce fiery Pegasus thus to regale, When he's danger and death from hot head to flame-tail, Is cruelly callous brutality.

Ah, Justice looks stern, and, indeed, well she may, With such a vile vision before her. The ignipotent nag and its rider to stay In their dangerous course is her duty to-day, And to _do_ it the public implore her.

"By Jingo!" cries _Punch_, "you nefarious Two, Your alliance humanity jars on! If you feed the Fire Fiend, with disaster in view, And the chance of men's death, 'twere mere justice to do To have you indicted for arson!"

* * * * *

[Illustration: FELICITOUS QUOTATIONS.

"OH, ROBERT, THE GROUSE HAS BEEN KEPT TOO LONG! I WONDER YOU CAN EATIT!"

_Chorus of British Saleswomen_. _Will_ you allow me to show you thislittle novelty, Sir? _'Ave_ you seen the noo perfume sprinkler? Docome and try this noo puzzle--no 'arm in _lookin'_, Sir. Very nicelittle novelties 'ere, Sir! 'Eard the noo French Worltz, Sir? everyarticle is really very much reduced, &c, &c.

AT THE FOLIES-BERGERE.

SCENE--_A hall in the grounds. Several turnstiles leading to curtained entrances._

_Showmen_ (_shouting_). Amphitrite, the Marvellous Floatin' Goddess.Just about to commence! This way for the Mystic Gallery--threeIllusions for threepence! Atalanta, the Silver Queen of the Moon; theOriental Beauty in the Table of the Sphinx, and the Wonderful Galatea,or Pygmalion's Dream. Only threepence! This way for the Mystic Marvelo' She! Now commencing!

_A Female Sightseer_ (_with the air of a person making an originalsuggestion_). Shall we go in, just to see what it's like?

_Male Ditto_. May as well, now we _are_ 'ere. (_To preserve himselffrom any suspicion of credulity._) Sure to be a take-in o' some sort.

[_They enter a dim apartment, in which two or three people are leaning over a barrier in front of a small Stage; the Curtain is lowered, and a Pianist is industriously pounding away at a Waltz_.

_The F.S._ (_with an uncomfortable giggle_). Not much to see _so_ far,is there?

_Her Comp._ (_who, having paid for admission, resents this want ofappreciation_). Why, she was off the ground the 'ole of the time,wasn't she? I'd just like to see _you_ turnin' and twisting aboutin the air as easy as she did with nothing to 'old on by!

_The F.S._ I didn't notice she was off the ground--yes, that _was_clever. I never thought o' that before. Let's go and see the otherthings now.

_Her Comp._ Well, if you don't see nothing surprising in 'em tillthey're all over, you might as well stop outside, _I_ should ha'thought.

_The F.S._ Oh, but I'll notice more next time--you've got to get_used_ to these things, you know.

[_They enter the Mystic Gallery, and find themselves in a dim passage, opposite a partitioned compartment, in which is a glass case, supported on four pedestals, with a silver crescent at the back. The Illusions--to judge from a sound of scurrying behind the scenes--have apparently been taken somewhat unawares._

_Voice of Showman_ (_addressing the Illusions_). Now then, 'urry upthere--we're all waiting for you.

[_The face of "Atalanta, the Silver Queen of the Moon," appears, strongly illuminated, inside the glass-box, and regards the spectators with an impassive contempt--greatly to their confusion._

_The Male S._ (_in a propitiatory tone_). Not a bad-looking girl, isshe? _Atalanta, the Queen of the Moon (to the Oriental Beauty in nextcompartment_). Polly, when these people are gone, I wish you'd fetchme my work!

[_The Sightseers move on, feeling crushed. In the second compartment the upper portion of a female is discovered, calmly knitting in the centre of a small table, the legs of which are distinctly visible._

[_They pass on to interview "Galatea, or Pygmalion's Dream," whose compartment is as yet enveloped in obscurity._

_A Youthful Showman_ (_apparently on familiar terms with all theIllusions_). Ladies and Gentlemen, I shell now 'ave the honour ofpersentin' to you the wonderful Galatear, or Livin' Statue; you will'ave an oppertoonity of 'andling the bust for yourselves, which willwarm before your eyes into living flesh, and the lovely creecher liveand speak. 'Ere, look sharp, carn't yer'! [_To_ Galatea.

(_Turns the lights up, and reveals a large terra-cotta Bust._) Atmy request, this young lydy will now perceed to assoom the yew andkimplexion of life itself. Galatear, will you oblige us by kindlycoming to life?

[_The Bust vanishes, and is replaced by a decidedly earthly Young Woman in robust health._

_The Y.S._ Thenk you. That's all I wanted of yer. Now, will you kindlyreturn to your former styte?

[_The Young Woman transforms herself into a hideous Skull._

_The Y.S._ (_in a tone of remonstrance_). No--no, not that ridiklousfice! We don't want to see what yer will be--it's very _loike_ yer,I know, but still--(_The Skull changes to the Bust._) Ah, that'smore the stoyle! (_Takes the Bust by the neck and hands it round forinspection._) And now, thenking you for your kind attention, and on'yorskin' one little fyvour of you, that is, that you will not reveal'ow it is done, I will now bid you a very good evenin', Lydies andGentlemen!

_The F.S._ (_outside_). It's wonderful how they can do it all forthreepence, isn't it? We haven't seen _She_ yet!

[_They enter a small room, at the further end of which are a barrier and proscenium with drawn hangings._

_The Exhibitor_ (_in a confidential tone, punctuated by bows_).I will not keep you waiting, Ladies and Gentlemen, but at onceproceed with a few preliminary remarks. Most of you, no doubt, haveread that celebrated story by Mr. RIDER HAGGARD, about a certain_She-who-must-be-obeyed_, and who dwelt in a place called Kor, and youwill also doubtless remember how she was in the 'abit of repairing,at certain intervals, to a cavern, and renooing her youth in a fierypiller. On one occasion, wishing to indooce her lover to foller herexample, she stepped into the flame to encourage him--something wentwrong with the works, and she was instantly redooced to a cinder.I fortunately 'appened to be near at the time (you will escuse alittle wild fib from a showman, I'm sure!) I 'appened to be porsinby, and was thus enabled to secure the ashes of the Wonderful She,which--(_draws hangings and reveals a shallow metal Urn suspended inthe centre of scene_), are now before you enclosed in that little urn.She--where are you?

_She_ (_in a full sweet voice, from below_). I am 'ere!

_Showman_. Then appear!

[_The upper portion of an exceedingly comely Young Person emerges from the mouth of the Urn._

_The F.S._ (_startled_). Lor, she give me quite a turn!

_Showman_. Some people think this is all done by mirrors, but it isnot so; it is managed by a simple arrangement of light and shade. Shewill now turn slowly round, to convince you that she is really insidethe urn and not merely beyind it. (She _turns round condescendingly._)She will next pass her 'ands completely round her, therebydemonstrating the utter impossibility of there being any wires tosupport her. Now she will rap on the walls on each side of her,proving to you that she is no reflection, but a solid reality, afterwhich she will tap the bottom of the urn beneath her, so that youmay see it really is what it purports to be. (She _performs all theseactions in the most obliging manner_.) She will now disappear for amoment. (She _sinks into the Urn._) Are you still there, She?

_She_ (_from the recess of the Urn_). Yes.

_Showman_. Then will you give us some sign of your presence! (_A handand arm are protruded, and waved gracefully._) Thank you. Now you cancome up again. (She _re-appears._) She will now answer any questionsany lady or gentleman may like to put to her, always provided youwon't ask her how it is done--for I'm sure she wouldn't give me away,_would_ you, She?

SCENE I.--_St. Stephen's._ Sagacious Legislator _on his legs advocating a new Anti-Adulteration Act. Few M.P.'s present, most of them drowsing_.

_Sagacious Legislator_. As I was saying, Sir, the adulteration ofButter has been pushed to such abominable lengths that no BritishWorkman knows whether what he is eating is the product of the Cowor of the Thames mud-banks. (_A snigger._) Talk of a Free BreakfastTable! I would free the Briton's Breakfast Table from the unwholesomeincubus of Adulteration. At any rate, if the customer chooses topurchase butter which is _not_ butter, he shall do it knowingly, withhis eyes open. (_Feeble "Hear, hear!"_) Under this Act anything whichis not absolutely unsophisticated milk-made Butter must be plainlymarked, and openly vended as Adipocerene!

[Illustration]

[_Amidst considerable applause the Act is passed._

SCENE II.--_Small Butterman's shop in a poor neighbourhood. Burly white-apron'd Proprietor behind counter. To him enter a pasty-faced Workman, with a greasy pat of something wrapped in a leaf from a ledger._

_Workman._ I say, Guv'nor, lookye here. This 'ere stuff as you sold myold woman, is simply beastly. I don't believe it's butter at all.

_Butterman_ (_sneeringly_). And who said it _was_? What did yourMissus buy it as?

_Workman_. Why, Adipo--whot's it, I believe. But that's only anothername for butter of a cheaper sort, ain't it? Anyhow, it's no reasonwhy it should be nasty.

_Butterman_ (_loftily_). Now look here, my man, what do you expect?That's Adipocerene, that is, and _sold as such_. If you'll pay forButter, you can have it; but if you ask for this here stuff, you musttake yer chance.

_Workman_. But what's it made on?

_Butterman_. That's no business of mine. If you could anerlyseit--(mind, I don't say yer _could_)--into stale suet andsewer-scrapings, you couldn't prove as it warn't Adipocerene, same asit's sold for, could yer?

_Butterman_ (_decisively_). Then buy Butter, and _pay_ for it like aman, and don't come a-bothering me about things as I've nothink to dowith. If Guv'ment _will_ have it called Adipocerene, and your Missus_will_ buy it becos it's cheap; don't you blame _me_ if you find itnasty, that's all. Good morning!

[_Retires up, "swelling visibly."_

_Workman_. Humph! Betwixt Grandmotherly Government and Manufacturersof Mysteriousness, where _am_ I? That's wot I want to know! [_Leftwanting to know._

* * * * *

TO ENGELBERG AND BACK.

_BEING A FEW NOTES TAKEN EN ROUTE IN SEARCH OF A PERFECT CURE._

The Engineers who constructed the gradually ascending road which,slowly mounting the valley, finally takes you over the ridge, as itwere, and deposits you at a height of 3800 feet, dusty but grateful,on the plain of Engelberg, must have been practical jokers of thefirst water. They lead you up in the right direction several thousandfeet, then suddenly turn you round, and apparently take you clean backagain. And this not once, but a dozen times. They seem to say, "Youthink you must reach the top _this_ time, my fine fellow? Not a bit ofit. Back you go again."

Still we kept turning and turning whither the Practical-jokingEngineers led us, but seemed as far off from our journey's end asever. A roadside inn for a moment deluded us with its light, but weonly drew up in front of this while our gloomy charioteer sat downto a good square meal, the third he had had since three o'clock, overwhich he consumed exactly five-and-twenty minutes, keeping us waitingwhile he disposed of it at his leisure, in a fit of depressing butgreedy sulks.

At length we moved on again, and in about another half-an-hourapparently reached the limit of the Practical-joking Engineers' work,for our surly charioteer suddenly jumped on the box, and crackinghis whip furiously, got all the pace that was left in them out ofour three sagacious horses, and in a few more minutes we were tearingalong a level road past scattered _chalets_, little wooden toy-shops,and isolated _pensions_, towards a colossal-looking white palace thatstood out a grateful sight in the distance before us, basking in thecalm white-blue blaze shed upon it from a couple of lofty electriclights, that told us that up here in the mountains we were not comingto rough it, but to be welcomed by the latest luxuries and refinementsof first-rate modern hotel accommodation. And this proved to bethe case. Immediately he arrived in the large entrance-hall, theDilapidated One was greeted by the Landlord of the Hotel et Kurhaus,Titlis, politely assisted to the lift, and finally deposited in thecomfortable and electrically-lighted room which had been assigned tohim.

"We are extremely full," announced the polite Herr to Dr. MELCHISIDEC;"and we just come from finishing the second dinner,"--which seemedto account for his being "extremely full,"--"but as soon as youwill descend from your rooms, there will be supper ready at yourdisposition."

"You'll just come and look at the Bath-chair before you turn in?"inquired Dr. MELCHISIDEC, of the Dilapidated One, "It's arrived allright from Zurich. Come by post, apparently."

"Oh, that's nothing," continued young JERRYMAN, "why, there's nothingyou can't send by post in Switzerland, from a house full of furniture,down to a grand piano or cage of canaries. You've only got to clapa postage-stamp on it, and there you are!" And the arrival of theBath-chair certainly seemed to indicate that he was telling somethingvery like the truth.

[Illustration: The Trick Chair.]

"I don't quite see how this guiding-wheel is to act," remarked Dr.MELCHISIDEC, examining the chair, which was of rather pantomimicproportions, critically; "but suppose you just get in and try it! 'Ponmy word it almost looks like a 'trick-chair'!" which indeed it proveditself to be, jerking up in a most unaccountable fashion the momentthe Dilapidated One put his foot into it, and unceremoniously sendinghim flying out on to his head forthwith. "A little awkward at first,"he remarked, assisting the Dilapidated One on to his feet. "One hasto get accustomed to these things, you see; but, bless you, in aday or two you won't want it at all. You'll find the air here likea continual draught of champagne. 'Pon my word, I believe you feelbetter already," and with this inspiriting assurance the DilapidatedOne, who had not only covered himself with dust, but severely bruisedhis shins, saying that "he thought, perhaps, he did--just a little,"was again assisted to the lift, and safely consigned to his room,where he was comfortably packed away for the night.

"I say," says young JERRYMAN, next morning, "what a place for bells!"

[Illustration: A Peripatetic Peal.]

And young JERRYMAN was right, for I was awoke in the small hours ofthe morning by a loud peal from the Monastery, as if the Prior hadsuddenly said to himself, "What's the use of the bells if you don'tring 'em? By Jove, I will!" and had then and there jumped from hiscouch, seized hold of the ropes, and set to work with a right goodwill. Then the hotels and _pensions_ took it up, and so, what withseven o'clock, eight o'clock, and nine o'clock breakfasts, firstand second _dejeuners_, first and second dinners, interspersedwith "Office Hours" sounded by the Monastery, and the sound ofthe dinner-bells carried by the cattle, Dingle-berg, rather thanEngelberg, would be a highly appropriate name for this somewhat noisy,but otherwise delightful health-resort.

"I call this 'fatal dull' after Paris," remarked a fair Americaine toyoung JERRYMAN; and, perhaps, from a certain point of view, she mayhave been right; but, fatal dull, or lively, there can be no twoopinions about the life-giving properties of the air.

* * * * *

OLD JOE ENCORE.--Last Wednesday in the FARRAR _v._ Publisherdiscussion, a Correspondent, signing himself JOHN TAYLOR, of DagnallPark, Selhurst, wrote to _The Times_ to "quote an anecdote" aboutDOUGLAS JERROLD and "a Publisher." Rarely has a good old story been sospoilt in the telling as in this instance. The true story is of ALBERTSMITH and DOUGLAS JERROLD, and has been already told in the _Times_ bya Correspondent signing himself "E.Y." It is of the same respectableage as that one of ALBERT SMITH signing his initials "A.S.," andJERROLD observing, "He only tells two-thirds of the truth." PerhapsMr. JOHN TAYLOR, of Dagnall Park, Selhurst, is going to favour us witha little volume of "new sayings by old worthies" at Christmas time,and we shall hear how SHERIDAN once asked TOM B---- "why a millerwore a white hat?" And how ERSKINE, on hearing a witness's evidenceabout a door being open, explained to him that his evidence would beworthless, because a door could not be considered as a door "if itwere a jar," and several other excellent stories, which, being toldfor the first time with the _verve_ and local colouring of which thewriter of the letter to _The Times_ is evidently a past-master, willsecure for the little work an enormous popularity.

* * * * *

A SCOTT AND A LOT.--"Thirty Years at the Play" is the title of Mr.CLEMENT SCOTT's Lecture to be delivered next Saturday at the GarrickTheatre, for the benefit of the Actors' Benevolent Fund. Thirty yearsof Play-time! All play, and lots of work. Mr. IRVING is to introducethe lecturer to his audience, who, up to that moment, will have been"Strangers Yet," and this CLEMENT will be SCOTT-free to say what helikes, and to tell 'em all about it generally. "SCOTT" will be on thestage, and the "Lot" in the auditorium. Lot's Wife also.

* * * * *

ETHER-DRINKING IN IRELAND.--Mr. ERNEST HART (bless his heart andearnestness!) lectured last week on "Ether-Drinking in Ireland." Helectured "The Society for the Study of Inebriety"--a Society whichmust be slightly "mixed"--on this bad habit, and no doubt imploredthem to give it up. The party sang, "_How Happy could we be withEther_" and the discussion was continued until there was nothingmore to be said.

* * * * *

CLERGY IN PARLIAMENT.--As Bishops "sit" in the Upper House, why shouldnot "the inferior clergy" "stand" for the Lower House? If they get in,why shouldn't they be seated? Surely what's right in the Bishop isn'twrong in the Rector?

* * * * *

LITERARY ADVERTISEMENT.--The forthcoming work by the VulnerableArchdeacon F-RR-R, will be entitled, _The Pharrarsee and thePublisher_.

* * * * *

[Illustration: "TRAIN UP A CHILD," &C.

_Enter Fair Daughter of the House with the Village Carpenter_. "MAMMA,YOU ALWAYS TOLD ME THAT KIND HEARTS WERE MORE THAN CORONETS, ANDSIMPLE FAITH THAN NORMAN BLOOD, AND ALL THAT?"

_Fair Daughter_. "WELL, I'VE ALWAYS BELIEVED YOU; AND JIM BRADAWL HASASKED ME TO BE HIS WIFE, AND I'VE ACCEPTED HIM. WE'VE ALWAYS LOVEDEACH OTHER SINCE YOU LET US PLAY TOGETHER AS CHILDREN!"

[_Her Ladyship forgets, for once, the repose that stamps her caste._]

* * * * *

THE McGLADSTONE;

OR, BLOWING THE BUGLE.

_(FRAGMENTS FROM THE LATEST (MIDLOTHIAN) VERSION OF "THE LORD OF THEISLES."_)

McGLADSTONE rose--his pallid cheek Was little wont his joy to speak, But then his colour rose. "Now, Scotland! shortly shalt thou see That age checks not McGLADSTONE's glee, Nor stints his swashing blows!"

Again that light has fired his eye, Again his form swells bold and high; The broken voice of age is gone, 'Tis vigorous manhood's lofty tone. The foe he menaces again, Thrice vanquished on Midlothian's plain; Then, scorning any longer stay, Embarks, lifts sail, and bears away.

Merrily, merrily bounds the bark, She bounds before the gale; The "flowing tide" is with her. Hark! How joyous in her sail Flutters the breeze like laughter hoarse! The cords and canvas strain, The waves divided by her force In rippling eddies, chase her course. As if they laughed again. 'Tis then that warlike signals wake Dalmeney's towers, and fair Beeslack.

And eke brave BALFOUR's walls (Q.C. And Scottish Dean of Faculty) Whose home shall house the great McG. A summons these to each stout clan That lives in far Midlothian, And, ready at the sight, Each warrior to his weapon sprung, And targe upon his shoulder flung, Impatient for the fight.

Merrily, merrily, bounds the bark On a breeze to the northward free. So shoots through the morning sky the lark, Or the swan through the summer sea. Merrily, merrily, goes the bark-- Before the gale she bounds; So darts the dolphin from the shark, Or the deer before the hounds. McGLADSTONE stands upon the prow, The mountain breeze salutes his brow, He snuffs the breath of coming fight, His dark eyes blaze with battle-light, And memories of old, When thus he rallied to the fray Against the bold BUCCLEUCH's array, His clansmen. In the same old way He trusts to rally them to-day. Shall he succeed? Who, who shall say? But neither fear no doubt may stay His spirit keen and bold!

He cries, the Chieftain Old and Grand, "I fight once more for mine own hand; Meanwhile our vessel nears the land, Launch we the boat, and seek the land!"

To land McGLADSTONE lightly sprung, And thrice aloud his bugle rung With note prolonged, and varied strain, Till Edin dun replied again. When waked that horn the party bounds, Scotia responded to its sounds; Oft had she heard it fire the fight, Cheer the pursuit, or stop the flight. Dead were her heart, and deaf her ear, If it should call, and she not hear. The shout went up in loud Clan-Rad's tone, "_That_ blast was winded by McGLADSTONE!"

* * * * *

RUM FROM JAMAICA--VERY.--When "the bauble" was removed from the tableof the House, by order of OLIVER CROMWELL, it was sent with somebody'scompliments at a later date to Jamaica, and placed on the Parliamenttable. What became of it nobody knows. It is supposed that thisensign of ancient British Royalty was swallowed up by an earthquakeof republican tendencies. Jamaica, of course, is a great place forspices; but, in spite of all the highly spiced stories, the origin ofwhich is more or less aus-spice-ious, it is to be regretted that, upto the present moment, what gave them their peculiar flavour, i.e.,the original Mace, cannot be found.

When some years ago EDMUNDUS ED. MUNDI first introduced to London thegentle art of Interviewing, the idea was in a general way a noveltyin this country. It "caught on," and achieved success. Some public menaffected, privately, not to like the extra publicity given to theirwords and actions; but it was only an affectation, and in a generalway a great many suddenly found themselves dubbed "Celebrities,"hall-marked as such by _The World_, and able therefore to handthemselves down to posterity, in bound volumes containing this oneinvaluable number as having been recognised by the world at large asundoubted Celebrities, ignorance of whose existence would argue uttersocial insignificance. So great was the _World's_ success in thisparticular line, that at once there sprang up a host of imitators,and the Celebrities were again tempted to make themselves stillmore celebrated by having good-natured caricatures of themselvesmade by "Age" and "Spy." After this, the deluge, of biographies,autobiographies, interviewings, photographic realities, portraitsplain and coloured--many of them uncommonly plain, and some of themwonderfully coloured,--until a Celebrity who has _not_ been done andserved up, with or without a plate, is a Celebrity indeed.

"Celebrities" have hitherto been valuable to the interviewer,photographer, and proprietor of a Magazine in due proportion. Is itnot high time that the Celebrities themselves have a slice or two outof the cake? If they consent to sit as models to the interviewer andphotographer, let them price their own time. The Baron offers a modelof correspondence on both sides, and, if his example is followed, upgoes the price of "Celebrities," and, consequently, of interviewed andinterviewers, there will be only a survival of the fittest.

_FROM A. SOPHTE SOPER TO THE BARON DE BOOK-WORMS._

SIR,--Messrs. TOWER, FONDLER, TROTTING & Co., are now engaged inbringing out a series of the leading Literary, Dramatic and ArtisticNotabilities of the present day, and feeling that the work which hasnow reached its hundred-and-second number, would indeed be incompletedid it not include _your_ name, the above-mentioned firm hascommissioned me to request you to accord me an interview as soon aspossible. I propose bringing with me an eminent photographer, andalso an artist who will make a sketch of your surroundings, and socontribute towards producing a complete picture which cannot fail tointerest and delight the thousands at home and abroad, to whom yourname is as a household word, and who will be delighted to possess aportrait of one whose works have given them so much pleasure, andto obtain a closer and more intimate acquaintance with the _modusoperandi_ pursued by one of their most favourite authors.

I remain, Sir, yours truly,

A. SOPHTE SOPER.

_To the_ BARON DE BOOK-WORMS, _Vermoulen Lodge_.

_FROM THE BARON DE BOOK-WORMS TO A. SOPHTE SOPER, ESQ._

DEAB SIR,--Thanks. I quite appreciate your appreciation. My termsfor an article in a Magazine, are twenty guineas the first hour,ten guineas the second, and so on. For dinner-table anecdotes, theproperty in which once made public is lost for ever to the originator,special terms. As to photographs, I will sign every copy, and taketwopence on every copy. I'm a little pressed for time now, so if youcan manage it, we will defer the visit for a week or two, and then I'myour man.

Yours truly,

BARON DE BOOK-WORMS.

_MR. A. SOPHTE SOPER TO THE BARON DE BOOK-WORMS._

MY DEAR BARON,--I'm afraid I didn't quite make myself understood. Idid not ask _you_ to write the article, being commissioned by thefirm to do it myself. The photographs will not be sold apart fromthe Magazine. Awaiting your favourable response,--

I am, Sir, Yours,

A. SOPHTE SOPER.

_FROM THE BARON TO A. SOPHTE SOPER._

DEAR SIR,--I _quite_ understood. With the generous view of doing me agood turn by giving me the almost inestimable advantage of advertisingmyself in Messrs. TOWERS & Co.'s widely-circulated Magazine, youpropose to interview me, and receive from me such orally giveninformation as you may require concerning my life, history, work, andeverything about myself which, in your opinion, would interest thereaders of this Magazine. I quite appreciate all this. You propose towrite the article, _and I'm to find you the materials for it_. Good. Idon't venture to put any price on the admirable work which your talentwill produce,--that's for you and your publishers to settle betweenyou, and, as a matter of fact, it has been already settled, as youare in their employ. But I _can_ put a price on my own, and I do. Icollaborate with you in furnishing all the materials of which you arein need. _Soit._ For the use of my Pegasus, no matter what its breed,and, as it isn't a gift-horse, but a hired one, you can examine itsmouth and legs critically whenever you are going to mount and guide itat your own sweet will, _I charge twenty guineas for the first hour_,and _ten for the second_. It may be dear, or it may be cheap. That'snot my affair. _C'est a laisser ou a prendre._

The Magazine in which the article is to appear is not given awaywith a pound of tea, or anything of that sort I presume, so that yourstrictly honourable and business-like firm of employers, and you also,Sir, in the regular course of your relations with them, intend makingsomething out of me, more or less, but something, while I get nothingat all for my time, which is decidedly as valuable to me as, Ipresume, is yours to you. What have your publishers ever done for methat I should give them my work for nothing? Time is money; why shouldI make Messrs. TOWER, FONDLER & Co. a present of twenty pounds, or,for the matter of that, even ten shillings? If I misapprehend thesituation, and you are doing your work gratis and for the love of thething, then that is _your_ affair, not mine: I'm glad to hear it, andregret my inability to join you in the luxury of giving away what itis an imperative necessity of my existence to sell at the best priceI can. Do you honestly imagine, Sir, that my literary position willbe one farthing's-worth improved by a memoir and a portrait of meappearing in your widely-circulated journal? If _you_ do, _I don't_;and I prefer to be paid for my work, whether I dictate the material toa scribe, who is to serve it up in his own fashion, or whether I writeit myself. And now I come to consider it, I should be inclined to makean additional charge for _not_ writing it myself, Not to take you andyour worthy firm of employers by surprise, I will make out beforehanda supposititious bill, and then Messrs. TOWER & Co. can close with myoffer or not, as they please.

L. s. d. To preparing (in special costume) to receive Interviewer, for putting aside letters, refusing to see tradesmen, &c. 3 0 0 To receiving Interviewer, Photographer, and Artist, and talking about nothing in particular for ten minutes. 5 0 0 To cigars and light refreshments all round. 10 6 To giving an account of my life and works generally (this being the article itself). 20 0 0 To showing photographs, books, pictures, playbills, and various curios in my collection. 5 0 0 To being photographed in several attitudes in the back garden three times, and incurring the danger of catching a severe cold. 3 0 0 (***_On the condition that I should sign all photos sold inspect books, and receive_ 10 _per cent. of gross receipts._) To allowing black-and-white Artist to make a sketch of my study, also of myself. 0 0 0 (***_On the condition that only this one picture is to be done, and that if sold separately, I must receive_ 10 _per cent. of such sale._) Luncheon, with champagne for the lot, at 15s. per head 2 5 0 Cigars and liqueurs. 0 10 0 For time occupied at luncheon in giving further details of my life and history. 10 0 0 ----------- Total L49 5 6

The refreshments are entirely optional, and therefore can be struckout beforehand.

Pray show the above to the eminent firm which has the advantage ofyour zealous services, and believe me to remain

Your most sincerely obliged

BARON DE BOOK-WORMS.

To the above a reply may be expected, and, if received, it willprobably be in a different tone from Mr. SOPHTE SOPER's previouscommunications. No matter. There's an end of it. The Baron's advice toall "Celebrities," when asked to permit themselves to be interviewed,is, in the language of the poet,--

"Charge, Chester, charge!"

then they will have benefited other Celebrities all round, and theresult will be that either only those authors will be interviewed whoare worth the price of interviewing, or the professional biographicalcompilers will have to hunt up nobodies, dress up jays as peacocks,and so bring the legitimate business of "Interviewing" intowell-deserved contempt.

* * * * *

_Two Men in a Boat_. By Messrs. DILLON and O'BRIEN.

[Illustration: THE GRAND OLD CAMPAIGNER IN SCOTLAND.]

* * * * *

[Illustration: PROPOSED RAISING OF PICCADILLY.

"Let the road be raised, &c.... Only one house in Piccadilly atpresent standing would suffer.... And I think the Badminton Club."

_Vile Letter to Times, Oct_. 11.

SUDDEN APPEARANCE OF THE PICCADILLY GOAT TO ELDERLY GENTLEMAN, WHO ISQUIETLY DRESSING IN HIS ROOM ON SECOND FLOOR.

A CLUB ALMOST ENTIRELY DISAPPEARS. MEMBERS MAKE THE BEST OF THESITUATION.]

* * * * *

L'ART DE CAUSER.

(_WITH EFFECTS UP TO DATE._)

[English ladies, conscious of conversational defects, and desirous of shining in Society, may be expected to imitate their American Cousins, who, according to _The Daily News_, employ a lady crammer who has made a study of the subject she teaches. Before a dinner or luncheon party, the crammer spends an hour or two with the pupil, and coaches her up in general conversation.]

It really took us by surprise, We thought her but a mere beginner, And widely opened were our eyes To hear her brilliant talk at dinner. She always knew just what to say, And said it well, nor for a minute Was ever at a loss,--I may As well confess--we men weren't in it!

The talk was of Roumania's Queen, And was she equal, say, to DANTE?-- The way that race was won by _Sheen_, And not the horse called _Alicante_-- Of how some charities were frauds, How some again were quite deserving-- The beauties of the Norfolk broads-- The latest hit of Mr. IRVING--

Does sap go up or down the stem?-- The Boom of Mr. RUDYARD KIPLING-- The speeches of the G.O.M.-- The strength of Mr. MORLEY's "stripling" _Was_ JONAH swallowed by the whale?-- The price of jute--we wondered all if They'd have the heart to send to gaol Those heroes, SLAVIN and McAULIFFE.

"Oh, maiden fair," I said at last, "To hear you talk is most delightful; But yet the time, it's clear, you've passed In reading must be something frightful. Come--do you trouble thus your head Because you want to go to College By getting out of Mr. STEAD L300 for General Knowledge?"

"Kind Sir," she promptly then replied, "Your guess, I quite admit, was clever, And, if I now in you confide, You'll keep it dark, I'm sure, for ever. Yet do not get, I pray, enraged, For how I got my information Was simply this--_I have engaged_ _A Coach in General Conversation_,"

* * * * *

SERVED A LA RUSSE.

MY DEAR MR. PUNCH,

Will you allow me, as one who knows Russia by heart, to express myintense admiration for the new piece at the Shaftesbury Theatre, inwhich is given, in my opinion, the most faithful picture of the CZAR'sdominions as yet exhibited to the British Public. ACT I. is devotedto "a Street near the Banks of the Neva, St. Petersburg," and herewe have a splendid view of the Winter Palace, and what I took to bethe Kremlin at Moscow. On one side is the house of a money-lender,and on the other the shelter afforded to a drosky-driver and hisstarving family. The author, whose name must be BUCHANANOFF (though hemodestly drops the ultimate syllable), gives as a second title to thisportion of his wonderful work, "The Dirge for the Dead." It is veryappropriate. A student, whose funds are at the lowest ebb, commits apurposeless murder, and a "pope" who has been on the look-out no doubtfor years, seizes the opportunity to rush into the murdered man'sdwelling, and sing over his inanimate body a little thing of his owncomposition. Anyone who has been in Russia will immediately recognisethis incident as absolutely true to life. Amongst my own acquaintanceI know three priests who did precisely the same thing--they are calledBROWNOFF, JONESKI, and ROBINSONOFF.

Next we have the Palace of the _Princess Orenburg_, and make theacquaintance of _Anna Ivanovna_, a young lady who is the sister of theaimless murderer, and owner of untold riches. We are also introducedto the Head of Police, who, as everyone knows, is a cross between asuburban inspector, a low-class inquiry agent, and a _flaneur_ movingin the best Society. We find, too, naturally enough, an English_attache_, whose chief aim is to insult an aged Russian General, whose_sobriquet_ is, "the Hero of Sebastopol." Then the aimless murdererreveals his crime, which, of course, escapes detection save at thehands of _Prince Zosimoff_, a nobleman, who I fancy, from his name,must have discovered a new kind of tooth-powder.

Next we have the "Interior of a Common Lodging House," the counterpartof which may be found in almost any street in the modern capital ofRussia. There are the religious pictures, the cathedral immediatelyopposite, with its stained-glass windows and intermittent organ, andthe air of sanctity without which no Russian Common Lodging Houseis complete. Needless to say that _Prince Tooth-powder_--I begpardon--and _Anna_ listen while _Fedor Ivanovitch_ again confesses hiscrime, this time to the daughter of the drosky-driver, for whom he hasa sincere regard, and I may add, affection. Although with a well-timedscream his sister might interrupt the awkward avowal, she prefers tolisten to the bitter end. This reminds me of several cases recorded inthe _Newgatekoff Calendaroff_, a miscellany of Russian crimes.

After this we come to the Gardens of the Palace Taurida, when _Fedor_is at length arrested and carted off to Siberia, an excellent pictureof which is given in the last Act. Those who _really_ know RussianSociety-will not be surprised to find that the Chief of the Police(promoted to a new position and a fur-trimmed coat), and the principalcharacters of the drama have also found their way to the MilitaryOutpost on the borders of the dreaded region. I say dreaded, butshould have added, without cause. M. BUCHANANOFF shows us a verypleasant picture. The prisoners seem to have very little to do save topreserve the life of the Governor, and to talk heroics about libertyand other kindred subjects. _Prince Zosimoff_ attempts, for thefourth or fifth time, to make _Anna_ his own--he calls the pursuit "acaprice," and it is indeed a strange one--and is, in the nick of time,arrested, by order of the CZAR. After this pleasing and natural littleincident, everyone prepares to go back to St. Petersburg, with thesolitary exception of the Prince, who is ordered off to the Mines. Nodoubt the Emperor of RUSSIA had used the tooth-powder, and, findingit distasteful to him, had taken speedy vengeance upon its presumedinventor.

I have but one fault to find with the representation. The play iscapital, the scenery excellent, and the acting beyond all praise. ButI am not quite sure about the title. M. BUCHANANOFF calls his play"_The_ Sixth _Commandment_"--he would have been, in my opinion, nearerthe mark, had he brought it into closer association with the Ninth!

Believe me, dear _Mr. Punch_,

Yours, respectfully,

RUSS IN URBE.

* * * * *

IN OUR GARDEN.

[Illustration]

"Suppose, TOBY dear boy," said the Member for Sark, "we start agarden, and work in it ourselves. TEMPLE did it, you know, when hewas tired of affairs of State."

"Sir RICHARD?" I asked, never remembering to have seen the Memberfor Evesham in the company of a rake.

"No; CHARLES THE SECOND's Minister, who went down to Sheen twocenturies before the Orleanist Princes, and grew roses. Of courseI don't mean to be there much in the Session. The thing is to havesomething during Recess to gently engage the mind and fully occupythe body."

This conversation took place towards the end of last Session but one.By odd coincidence I had met the Member for Sark as I was comingfrom OLD MORALITY's room, where I had been quietly dining with him,JACKSON and AKERS-DOUGLAS made up party of four. It was second weekof August; everybody tired to death. OLD MORALITY asked me to lookin and join them about eight o'clock. Knocked at door; no answer;curious scurrying going round; somebody running and jumping; heardOLD MORALITY's voice, in gleeful notes, "Now then, DOUGLAS, tuckin your tuppenny! Here you are, JACKSON! keep the mill a goin'!"Knocked again; no answer; opened door gently; beheld strange sight.The Patronage Secretary was "giving a back" to the FIRST LORD ofthe TREASURY. OLD MORALITY, taking running jump, cleared it withsurprising agility considering AKERS-DOUGLAS'S inches. Then he trottedon a few paces, folded his arms and bent his head; Financial Secretaryto Treasury, clearing AKERS-DOUGLAS, took OLD MORALITY in his stride,and "tucked in his tuppenny" in turn.

Thought I had better retire. Seemed on the whole the proceedingsdemanded privacy; but OLD MORALITY, catching sight of me, called out,"Come along, TOBY! Only our little game. Fall in, and take your turn."

Rather afraid of falling over, but didn't like to spoil sport; clearedOLD MORALITY capitally; scrambled over AKERS-DOUGLAS; but couldn'tmanage JACKSON.

"I can't get over him," I said, apologetically.

"No," said AKERS-DOUGLAS, "he's a Yorkshireman."

"'Tis but a primitive pastime," observed OLD MORALITY, when, later, wesat down to dinner; "but remarkably refreshing; a great stimulant forthe appetite. Indeed," he added, as he transferred a whole grouse tohis plate, "I do not know anything that more forcibly brings home tothe mind the truth underlying the old Greek aphorism, that a bird onyour plate is worth two in the dish."

I gathered in conversation that when business gets a little heavy,when time presses, and leisure for exercise is curtailed, OLD MORALITYgenerally has ten minutes leap-frog before dinner.

"We used at first to play it in the corridor; an excellent place;apparently especially designed for the purpose; but we were alwaysliable to interruption, and by putting the chairs on the table herewe manage well enough. It's been the making of me, and I may add,has enabled my Right Hon. friends with increased vigour and easeto perform their duty to their QUEEN and Country. The great thing,dear TOBY, is to judiciously commingle physical exercise with mentalactivity. What says the great bard of Abydos? _Mens sana in corporesano_, which being translated means, mens--or perhaps I should say,men--should incorporate bodily exercise with mental exercitation."

Of course I did not disclose to the Member for Sark, what had takenplace in the privity of OLD MORALITY's room. That is not my way. Thesecret is ever sacred with me, and shall be carried with me to thesilent tomb. But I was much impressed with the practical suggestionsof my esteemed Leader, and allured by their evident effect upon hisappetite.

"Men," continued the Member for Sark, moodily, "do all kinds of thingsin the Recess to make up for the inroads on the constitution sufferedduring the Session. They go to La Bourboule like the MARKISS andRAIKES; or they play Golf like Prince ARTHUR; or they pay visits totheir Mothers-in-law in the United States, like CHAMBERLAIN and LYONPLAYFAIR; or they go to Switzerland, India, Russia, Australia, andSierra Leone. Now if we had a garden, which we dug, and weeded, andclipped, and pruned ourselves, never eating a potato the sapling ofwhich we had not planted, watered, and if necessary grafted, with ourown hands, we should live happy, healthful lives for at least a monthor two, coming back to our work having renewed our youth like therhinoceros."

"But you don't know anything about gardening, do you?"

"That's just it. Anyone can keep a garden that has been brought up tothe business. But look what chances there are before two statesmen of,I trust I may say without egotism, average intelligence, who take togardening without, as you may say, knowing anything about it. Think ofthe charm of being able to call a spade a Hoe! without your companion,however contentious, capping the exclamation. Then think of the longvista of possible surprises. You dig a trench, and I gently sprinkleseed in it--"

"--The seed is carrot, let us suppose," the Member for Sark continued,disregarding my interruption, his fine face aglow with honestenthusiasm. "I, not being an adept, feeling my way, as it were,towards the perfection of knowledge, put in the seed the wrong endup, and, instead of the carrots presenting themselves to the earnestinquirer in what is, I believe, the ordinary fashion, with the greentops showing above the generous earth, and the spiral, rosy-tinted,cylindrical form hidden in the soil, the limb were to grow out ofthe ground, its head downward; would that be nothing, do you think? Imention that only as a possibility that flashed across my mind. Thereare an illimitable series of possibilities that might grow out of OurGarden. Of course we don't mean to make money out of it. It's onlyfair to you, TOBY, that I should, at the outset, beg you to hustle outof your mind any sordid ideas of that kind. What we seek is, healthand honest occupation, and here they lie open to our hand."

This conversation, as I mentioned, took place a little more than ayear ago. I was carried away, as the House of Commons never is, by myHon. friend's eloquence. We got the garden. We have it now; but I donot trust myself on this page to dwell on the subject.

* * * * *

FEMININE AND A N-UTAH GENDER.--Plurality of wives is abolished inUtah. The husbands seem to have made no difficulty about it, but whathave the wives said?

* * * * *

"QUEEN'S WEATHER."--The weather is looking up. It was mentioned in the_Court Circular_ last Wednesday week for the first time.

* * * * *

NOTICE.--Rejected Communications or Contributions, whether MS.,Printed Matter, Drawings, or Pictures of any description, will in nocase be returned, not even when accompanied by a Stamped and AddressedEnvelope, Cover, or Wrapper. To this rule there will be no exception.